


Identity Crisis

by zmethos



Category: Highlander: The Series, Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:29:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24762376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zmethos/pseuds/zmethos
Summary: An old portrait of Methos threatens to make his identity known to the Watchers.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in _Texas Extra: Special Langlinais Edition_ fanzine (Small Texas Press, 1997). The original preface note that was published with this piece is below:
> 
>  _This story is a combination of the television series_ Highlander _and an extract from Anne Rice's novels. I have taken the organization she created, known as the Talamasca, and married it to the Watchers. In Rice's novels, the Talamasca is an organization made up of people who have paranormal traits: psychics and those who can see ghosts, for example. These people in turn use their skills to study the histories of paranormal activities and groups, such as vampires and werewolves. In this story, the Watchers, a group of normal, everyday people, is a branch of the Talamasca. The Watchers observe Immortals, people who cannot die unless you take their heads. Immortals fight amongst themselves, taking each others heads and their Quickening, or life force. In the end, only one Immortal can be left, and that person will rule the world. Duncan MacLeod is a 400-year-old Immortal from Scotland. His Watcher, Joe Dawson, is also a very close friend of his. Methos, the oldest living Immortal who goes by the more common name Adam Pierson, is friend to both. Adam masquerades as a Watcher to avoid discovery; in fact, he heads the research team that looks for the legendary Methos. And Amanda is what Duncan might call an old friend, as well as an accomplished thief. When these guys get together, trouble is the name of the Game._

From the Watcher Unidentified Loose Papers File:

_I have come to a French monastery, for it had finally pressed on me. I left the castle by night, taking only my cloak, sword, and horse. To be honest, I had no real destination in mind when I left, only to go. I had to leave; the place held too many memories of my departed Amaranthe. I hope that, wherever she is, she does not think me a coward for running away. I'm sure Cymbaline is in a fret. I wonder what the House of Lords will say when they learn Whittam, Lord Bromley, is missing? Probably blame the Scots. But that is behind me, for I am now Brother Gabriel. There is another Immortal here, but I have not yet singled him out. As we are on Holy Ground, I have no fears. He is perhaps here for the same reason as I: Peace._

From the Watcher Chronicles:

_We had one in the village today, and Englishman who had come to warn us of the Sassenach army. I knew him by his name: Lord Bromley. The Clan at first did not receive him kindly, but who can blame them? The Sassenach have been trying to rule us against our wills, and here rides this noble Kingsman in his finery. Naturally we were suspicious. But Bromley's reputation preceded him; it is rumoured he has saved many in the Southlands. How or why he's come so far North I cannot say, except that he truly seems to fear that the Sassenach army rides not far behind. Bredon asked why this Lord would care to save the Scots, and the Englishman replied that "everye man has the right to live as he wishes." It came to me as being sincere, and it must have to the others as well, for Lord Bromley sleeps tonight in Cedric's home. —Doughan MacLeod_

Correspondence between Nathan Stern, Head of the Watchers, and David Talbot, Superior General of the Talamasca:

_David—_

_One of our researchers, Madrina Perkins of the Lost Immortal Team, believes she has a line on the elusive Brother Gabriel, who appears in monastery after monastery throughout the tenth to thirteenth centuries. Naturally we've concluded that "Brother Gabriel" uses another name when not disguised as a monk, and now we have evidence that one alibi was Whittam, Lord Bromley, the Immortal who helped the Scots fight off English rule. What Madrina has noted is that the English House of Lords likely has a portrait of Bromley in its holdings. One of Bromley's contemporaries, Lord Fartham, mentions such a sitting in his diary. If we could get a look at the painting, we would have a very good chance of scoring a find on Brother Gabriel, whoever he may be today. —Nathan Stern_

_My dear Nathan,_

_I have taken the liberty of contacting the House of Lords in hopes of attaining a copy of the portrait you mentioned. They are looking for it, but be advised it is by no means a sure thing. Many such things were lost during World War II. I will keep you posted of the results; tell Ms. Perkins to keep up the good work._

_Yours truly,  
David Talbot_

"What do you think?" Duncan MacLeod asked, holding up several paint chips.

The man on the floor barely glanced up from his notes. To look at Adam Pierson, one would never guess he was the oldest man on the planet. The 5000-year-old soul sported the body of a grad student... and an attitude. "Blue," he answered, then bent to continue his reading.

"Yeah, but which shade?"

"Mm... medium."

Duncan sighed and rested back against the couch. "Thanks for your help."

His friend didn't appear to grasp the sarcasm. "Anytime," he murmured.

"You know," said Duncan, "you've been here almost a week, and you still haven't told me why."

"Do I need a reason?"

"No, but you never do anything without one."

"Actually," Adam said suddenly, "I think light blue."

"You're avoiding the question." Duncan rose and went over to where Adam sat surrounded by papers and books. "What're you reading?"

"Just... translating..."

"Sounds enthralling, Duncan said, a wry grin twisting his dark, handsome features, "but how about some dinner?"

Adam finally tore his attention from his work and looked at Duncan. "Your treat?"

"No, Joe's."


	2. Chapter 2

The bartender looked up sharply from his place behind the bar when the door opened. "The bar's closed," he stated but broke into a grin when he recognized his guests. "Adam! What brings you to town?"

"Wouldn't we all like to know," muttered Duncan.

"I'm helping Duncan fix up another old house," Adam said.

Duncan turned a hard stare on him. "You're what?"

"Well, whatever," said Joe, his gaze bouncing between the two Immortals. "Look, we don't open for another hour, but Lou's in the back, he could whip up some dinner if you'd like."

"Sounds great," said Duncan. "What's his specialty?"

"Lou doesn't have one," Joe told him. "He's an average cook, but it doesn't make any difference to the drinkers."

Duncan glanced at Adam. "Not like we're going to die of food poisoning."

"I'll have a beer with my meal," Adam said. "Just to be safe."

"Coming right up." Joe turned to draw a draft of something dark and heavy, the kind of thing he knew Adam liked. "How about you, Mac?"

"The same."

Joe presented his guests with two mugs and produced a sweaty bottle for himself. "Hey, Lou!" he called over his shoulder to the kitchen, "how about three of those burgers?"

A voice like thunder rumbled back. "Sure thing, Joe!"

"Take a seat, Joe," Duncan said.

"Don't mind if I do. But let's move to a table, eh?" The high stools of the bar gave Joe, who walked on two prosthetic legs and with use of a cane, a little difficulty.

Once they were settled, Joe began quizzing Duncan on his latest hobby. The 400-year-old Immortal had recently taken up buying and restoring old houses. "So what are you doing? Painting?"

"Not until he picks a color," murmured Adam, which got him a sharp look from MacLeod.

"Some help you are," Duncan told him. "I ask him what color I should paint the den, and he says 'blue.'"

"Blue happens to be my favorite color," said Adam.

"Why are you here, really?" Duncan suddenly demanded.

Adam regarded him silently for a long moment, and Joe's eyes began to dart between the two men. "Hey now," he said, "I was just hoping for a nice evening with my buddies, and you two look about ready to take each other's heads. What's going on?"

Just then Lou appeared with dinner: greasy burgers served with heaping sides of fries. But Duncan and Adam only continued to stare at one another, neither willing to break the gaze.

"I jus want to know," Duncan finally said. "Is something wrong?"

"You know Adam," Joe intervened. "He turns up for a while, stays a week, disappears again... Doing another world tour, I bet." He turned a hopeful, expectant look Adam's way.

Adam swallowed, on the verge of lying. It would have been easy and mostly painless, and Joe had left him the perfect opportunity. But under the unswerving gaze of the only two people he completely trusted, he found he couldn't. Well, he could... He simply refused to.

"I came to say goodbye."

Joe was first to react. "Goodbye? What do you mean?"

"It's time, Joe. I need to disappear. Possibly for a long time."

"Disappear where?" Joe pressed.

"If I told you, it wouldn't be disappearing."

"You're afraid of someone," said Duncan. "You've been discovered?"

"How?" Joe demanded. "How could anybody know?"

"That's what I'd like to know," said Adam. There was silence as Duncan and Joe contemplated the implications of his statement.

"Wait a minute," Joe said suddenly, his steel-colored brows lowering, "you think one of us sold you out?"

"Maybe not intentionally, but you're the only one who know who I really am."

Duncan snorted. "As if you'd be worth mentioning to anyone."

Joe leaned back in his chair and cocked a bright blue eye at his friends. "What about Amanda? Doesn't she know?"

The three men exchanged a flurry of glances. "Amanda," the chorused.

Adam fell back against his chair and groaned. "I'm a dead man."


	3. Chapter 3

With a little networking on the Watcher database, Joe was able to get a line on Amanda's whereabouts. "She just flew into Paris this morning."

"And I'll be she's on my barge," Duncan remarked with a scowl. "Can I use your phone?"

"I didn't tell anybody anything!" Amanda insisted once Duncan had her on the line. "I mean, it's not like Methos is a common topic of conversation."

"You're holding something back, Amanda, I can tell," said Duncan. "This is life or death here."

"Well, the only thing that comes to mind—and it's a long shot—is the painting I took..."

"You what?!" Duncan shouted into the phone, and Joe and Adam turned sharply from where they now stood at the bar. A little more quietly, Duncan added, "I thought you gave it up."

"Oh, but MacLeod, you should have seen this place! You'd love it! Loads of old, valuable stuff... Well, mostly books, but—"

"And you helped yourself to a painting."

"I know," Amanda admitted. "A little out of my league. I'm not usually an art person, but when I saw this portrait, I couldn't believe it! It was Methos!"

"What?"

"Only with longer hair," Amanda went on. "And the name plate said 'Lord Bromley.' I don't know. But I took it."

"I'm sure he'll be flattered," Duncan muttered.

"He's not in some kind of trouble, is he?" Amanda asked.

"As a matter of fact, he is."

"And you think the painting might have something to do with it?"

"I don't know; I'll have to ask him about it first. Just don't let anyone see it."

"As if people go looking for pictures of Lord Bromley every day," said Amanda. "Anyway, it's not like I'm going to parade stolen merchandise through the streets of Paris."

"Amanda," Duncan warned.

"Okay, okay."

"And stay put in case I need to get ahold of you."

"Okay, but I want a big night on the town when you get back from whatever you do over there."

"You won't get anything if Methos dies because you couldn't keep your hands to yourself," Duncan told her. "Just stay put." He hung up without a goodbye. Then, turning to his friends at the bar, he asked Adam without preamble, "Were you really Lord Bromley?"

Adam frowned. "What?"

"Lord Bromely?" Joe echoed. "The Immortal who disappeared in Scotland?"

"You mean out of Scotland," Duncan corrected. "When I was a kid, there were stories about the Englishman who came to help our people fight off British rule. Bromley used to ride through the country, warning the Clans of oncoming English troops. And then one day he just disappeared. Became a folk legend of sorts."

"Look, this is a great story," said Adam, "but what has it got to do with—"

"Amanda went on one of her... excursions," Duncan told him. "I don't know who she robbed, but she stumbled onto quite a find: a portrait of Lord Bromley that she swears looks just like Methos."

Duncan and Joe stared at Adam for a moment. Then Joe said, " _You_ were Lord Bromley?"

Adam swore softly under his breath. "I should have known better than to let them talk me into that damn portrait."

"Adam, the Watchers have an entire team devoted to hunting lost Immortals. You know that, you lead the Methos team," Joe said. "If any of them could connect you to Bromley..."

Adam nodded slowly as he thought it over.

"But I thought you were worried about another Immortal," said Duncan.

"I wasn't sure," Adam said. "I got an anonymous letter that I might be in danger. It didn't say from whom."

"An anonymous letter?" asked Joe. "But that means—"

Adam waved away the question and set his beer on the bar. "Think I'll go for a walk."

"You can't just go wandering around out there!" Joe called after him, but Duncan placed a staying hand on his shoulder.

"He'll be fine."

Outside, Adam made a beeline for the waterfront. The sun was setting and dark was moving in fast. Taking refuge on a crate under a dock lantern, Adam fished the letter from his coat pocket. He had a pretty good idea now who it was from. But why hadn't David signed it? Or just called? Adam hadn't even considered David Talbot when he'd received the letter, although now he wondered why. True, he had limited contact with David given that a mere Watcher researcher had no reasons to be in touch with the Superior General of the Talamasca. Maybe that was why David hadn't been more direct in his correspondence. If Adam was being watched, David couldn't risk open contact. But David was the only other person who knew who Adam really was.

The portrait. It had been stored in the basement of the Motherhouse in London. Amanda had robbed the Motherhouse? How? But then, most Watchers knew nothing of the Talamasca. To Amanda's Watcher, the Motherhouse would be, well, just another house. And there had thus far not been a security system designed to keep Amanda out of anywhere she wanted to go.

Still, what to tell Duncan and Joe? Given that Joe was unlikely to know about the Talamasca either... Nor was Adam necessarily at liberty to disabuse him of his ignorance... What he really needed to do was find David and get details on what was actually going on.

 _No chance of doing that tonight_ , Adam thought as he rose. Back to the bar, then, to make his excuses and go from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Use of landline phones since, at the time I wrote this, mobiles weren't an everyday thing.


	4. Chapter 4

When he got back to Joe's, Adam found the place starting to crowd with the evening regulars. Duncan sat at the bar and Joe stood behind it passing out beers and the occasional liquor. Although neither said anything, Adam could read the relief on their faces as he walked in.

"Don't look at me like that," Adam told them. "I wasn't gone more than an hour."

"It doesn't take long if someone is looking for you," Duncan said.

"Especially someone at the top," Joe added. Adam glanced at him sharply as he took the seat next to MacLeod. Joe slid a beer toward him and explained, "I did a little research while you were out, and boy did I hit the jackpot."

"It seems they've made some connection between Lord Bromley and a Brother Gabriel," Duncan filled in.

"How?" Adam demanded.

"I don't know," Joe admitted. "Some paperwork file. Anyway, one researcher got the bright idea that if Whittam Bromley was an English lord, there should be a portrait of him somewhere."

"So they're looking for the painting," said Adam.

"It's more than that," Duncan told him.

"The researcher contacted Nathan Stern," Joe said. "I mean, this is a major breakthrough; they've been looking for Brother Gabriel and wondering what happened to Bromley for centuries! Of course they're going to reach all the way up the ladder. So he has a team of people looking for the painting—"

"Which Amanda stole," Duncan finished.

"Some coincidence," Adam murmured.

"What I still don't get, though," said Joe, "is who could have warned you? No one else knows... right?"

Adam shrugged. "Someone must."

"You don't seem too concerned about it," Duncan observed.

"If it was someone who knew and wanted to kill me, he would have done it by now. Instead he chose to warn me."

"Well, you're not in the clear yet," Duncan warned. "If Amanda has the portrait and the Watchers are looking for it, and Amanda has a Watcher..." He let the implication hang unspoken.

Adam nodded. "I see your point." He sipped his beer. "So what do you suggest I do?"

"We need to make sure no one sees that portrait," said Duncan. "Which means we have to get it away from Amanda."

"You don't think she'll show it to anybody, do you?" Joe asked.

"Let's just say I'll feel better about it if I can keep an eye on her," Duncan replied. He turned to Adam. "Any idea where she might have gotten the painting? Who might have had it?"

Adam swallowed more beer to force down the lump in his throat. "No," he finally answered. "Left the damn thing hanging in Bromley Castle when I left. No telling who got ahold of it after that." At least that much was true.

"Well, Amanda will be able to point it out, wherever it is," said Joe.

"A house in London, she said," remarked Duncan.

"I would've thought the British government would have it," Joe mused. "Wasn't Bromley a legendary member of the House of Lords?"

Adam shook his head. "Infamous, in English eyes. In any case, if it had been in a museum anywhere, the Watchers would have found it long since. Probably in a private collection."

"Great," sighed Joe. "How do you explain to a stranger that your friend robbed them?"

"Maybe we won't have to," Duncan said, rising from his stool. "We'll have time to consider our options on the flight to Paris."


	5. Chapter 5

"Duncan!" Amanda squealed when he showed up at the barge he kept as a home in Paris. She threw her arms around his neck before he even had a chance to set his bag down then glanced around him at the door. "Where's Methos?"

"Call him Adam," Duncan reminded her. "We couldn't get a flight together on such short notice, so he and Joe are arriving a little later."

She broke into a grin. "So we have some time to ourselves?"

He shrugged her off, dropped his bag, and hung his coat on the rack by the door. "Not now, Amanda. We have other things to do. Where's the painting?"

She flung herself onto the couch with a pout and pointed wordlessly at a sheet-draped rectangle resting against the wall by the bed.

"No one's seen it?" Duncan asked as he crossed the room.

"I gave you my word."

"Yeah, well, pardon me if—" He yanked the sheet off the portrait and froze. "That's him all right," he murmured in numb amazement.

"You didn't believe me?" Amanda asked.

Duncan tore his eyes from the portrait and looked at her. "You have been known to let your imagination run away with you."

"I don't have to take this kind of abuse, you know," Amanda said. She stood and strode to the door, grabbing a coat from the rack as she passed. "I did you a favor and—"

"Amanda, that's my—" Duncan began, but they both went still as a familiar sensation washed over them, a kind of cold chill that started at the back of the head and dripped down the spine. They each turned expectantly toward the door.

"Knock knock," said Adam as he entered. His gaze immediately landed on the portrait and he scowled. "Burn it." When Duncan only stared at him in disbelief, Adam said it again: "Burn it, MacLeod."

"No!" Amanda cried. She dropped Duncan's coat to the floor. "Do you have any idea how difficult it was to get out of that house with that thing?"

"You should have left it!" Adam snapped. He drew a long, shuddering breath and forced calm into his next words. " _Why_ did you take it?"

Amanda's mouth opened but no sound came out. Then, with a small shrug, she said, "I thought you'd like it."

Adam closed his eyes for a moment then looked again at the portrait. "I'm flattered, really, but—" A sharp pounding at the door disrupted his words. He turned a wide-eyed look on Duncan. "Expecting company?"

"No," said Duncan as he headed for the door. "Cover it up."

The door opened before Duncan could answer it properly, and three men entered. The one seemingly in charge was a tall, thin, blond man with brilliant green eyes. The two men with him were both shorter and darker. All three wore long, dark trenchcoats.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" Duncan's tone was laced with sarcasm.

"Maybe," the tall one said. "We want what you took from the Motherhouse."

"The what?" Amanda asked.

"Don't pretend you don't know," the man said. His tone was even but still somehow managed to convey menace. "Why else would you have robbed it?"

Amanda feigned indignance. "Are you calling me a thief?"

"Deny it if you like," the blond man told her. "Either way, we'll find what we're looking for." He motioned his men forward.

"Duncan!" Amanda protested. "Are you going to let them treat me this way?"

"Of course not, sweetheart." Duncan turned to the man nearest him. "Excuse me," he said. The man looked up from his perusal of Duncan's shelves of curios, and Duncan punched him.

Amanda kneed the second man in the groin. "Oops," she said as he doubled over. "Maybe you'll feel better lying down." She pushed him to the ground and drove a bony knee into his back. "Better?"

However, when Duncan and Amanda looked up from their work, they found Adam being held with a blade at his throat. "Let them go," the leader instructed. When they hesitated, he pushed the blade a little closer to Adam's neck. "Let them go," he said again.

The two henchmen were allowed to rise and continue their search. Within minutes, one had thrown the sheet off the painting. "Jon," the man said, "this looks like ours, doesn't it?"

"Very pretty," Jon chuckled in Adam's ear. He looked to Duncan and Amanda. "Now, we are going to take the painting and your friend here, and you will pretend this never happened. Any attempt on your part to do otherwise will end his life. Understood?"

The group moved toward the door, leaving Duncan and Amanda unable to do anything but watch. They stood there for a long time after the footsteps faded from the deck. Then Amanda asked, "What the hell is a Motherhouse?"

"I don't know," Duncan admitted. "Maybe Joe—" He interrupted himself as his train of thought switched tracks. "Why did you rob the place?"

"I heard a rumor it was loaded. And it was! But I could only carry—"

The phone rang, and Duncan hurried to answer. "Hello?"

"Is Adam Pierson there?" A British voice, articulate and refined.

"Who wants to know?" Duncan demanded.

"Maybe I should—"

"No, wait," said Duncan. "Who is this?"

"My name is David. I'm an old friend of Adam's."

"Duncan MacLeod," said Duncan, though he suspected the man probably already knew that given he'd called the barge. "Also a friend of Adam's. He's, uh, unavailable. Would you like to leave a message?"

"Is he in trouble?"

"How'd you guess?"

Silence.

"What do you know?" Duncan pressed. When still no answer came, he added, "If you're really Adam's friend, you'll help us help him. What do you know?"

"The painting?" David asked.

"They took it. And Adam."

"That wasn't supposed to happen."

Despite a desire to scream, Duncan waited it out, leaving room for more information. He was rewarded by a deep sigh. "I thought she would get away with it."

"You thought who would get away with what?" Duncan asked.

"I thought if Amanda stole the portrait, no one would find it, and Adam would be safe."

Duncan's patience broke. "You were using us? Who are you? Are you Immortal?"

A dry laugh crackled over the phone line. "No, although I've been offered it many times. They'll be keeping Adam in the Watcher compound outside of Paris. Probably in the guesthouse. You'd best hurry. Nathan Stern just left a meeting in New Orleans on a flight to Paris. He's gathering researchers to view the painting. It'll be quite the show when they get a look at Adam besides."

"Not if I can help it," said Duncan. He hung up and began filling Amanda in but was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Not again," Amanda groaned. "Look, if they ask about some jeweled rosaries, we haven't seen them."

"What?" Duncan asked as he opened the door. "Oh, see, it's only Joe."

"Only?" Joe asked as he entered. "Gee, thanks, I love you, too." He sighed. "Look, I've got some bad news."

"We know. They have Adam," said Duncan.

Joe nodded. "It's all over the Watcher networks."

"So what do we do about it?" Amanda asked.

"We go in after him," Duncan said. He outlined the phone call. "This David fellow says they're holding him on Watcher property. Can you get us in?" he asked Joe.

Joe held up his hands in surrender. "They're going to have a lot of security around this, more even than usual."

"Leave the hard part to us," Duncan told him. "Amanda, do you have anything that might help us put these boys to bed?"

She smiled. "Not with me. But I know where to get it."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep in mind I wrote this when I was about 15...

"Where did you get that God-awful thing?" Amanda asked Joe when they met at the barge again that afternoon. Despite the desire to move quickly, planning and preparation were required.

"A thrift shop," said Joe. "You don't like it?"

"Let's just say I hope you didn't pay a lot for it. I could have found something much more appropriate."

"You probably would have tried taking the Mona Lisa from the Louvre," said Duncan as he joined them at the sofa. "We don't have a lot of time, so let's go through it just once more. Joe, all you have to do is get the gate open. You're pretty sure where the security room is?"

"Pretty sure," said Joe, "but I still don't see how—"

"That's what this is for," Amanda told him. She opened her purse to reveal vials, hypodermic needles, and a few metal canisters. "There's enough here to keep Paris asleep for a week."

Duncan nodded his approval. "The canisters go in the duct work," he explained to Joe. And when Joe looked worried, he promised, "We won't hurt anyone."

"Not permanently, anyway," added Amanda.

Duncan gave her a repressive look. "We just want to grab Adam, switch the paintings, and get out. Where is the painting?"

Joe held it up and Duncan grimaced. "If I were Adam, I think I'd be insulted."

"Beggars can't be choosers," said Joe.

"Right," Duncan said. "Let's go."

***

Adam sat on the couch and stared at the portrait that leaned against the wall. He hated it. He'd always hated it. It had been painted in the month after his wife's murder, at a time when his grief had been deepest. All he could see in the deep red of his cloak was Amaranthe's blood spilling across the cold stone floor of the castle. He blinked, rose, and went to a window. He was three stories up and alone in the room; Marco and his wannabe twin stood guard outside and Jon had gone off to gloat. Neither had seen Adam's tattoo, at least; they hadn't connected that he was a Watcher. Yet.

Outside it was misty, and Adam found himself lost in memory. He did not allow himself to slip backward often, but... It had often been misty at Bromley, situated as it was near the Scottish border. Adam, as Lord Bromley, had been entrusted with the job of punishing any Scot who might attempt to cross into England, but his sympathies had lain elsewhere. In a deep-seated belief in fair fights (and perhaps not a little bit of guilt for past transgressions), he'd formed a complex network of information that allowed him to warn the Scots of any planned English invasions. And Amaranthe had supported him completely.

But one day things went sideways. Some Englishmen who did not know Adam's true allegiances brought a Scotsman they'd captured to Bromley Castle. Adam had been out, and Amaranthe spoke no Gaelic. Whatever miscommunication had transpired, the end result had been...

The thread of memory was broken by furtive movement amid the trees outside. _Too big for a fox or rabbit. Deer?_ And then Duncan and Amanda broke into the open, headed for the guesthouse. Adam tapped on the window. They surely couldn't hear him from so far up, but the motion must have caught their attention because they stopped to look. Amanda waved, Duncan rolled his eyes, grabbed her hand and dragged her around the corner of the house.

Life was about to get interesting. Again.


	7. Chapter 7

The door to Adam's prison opened and Jon sailed in. "Are you ready?"

"Why are you doing this?" Adam asked.

"Nothing personal."

"You're about to ruin my life and you expect me not to take it personally?"

"I'm about to make you a very famous man. In certain circles, at least," said Jon.

"I've never liked being famous," Adam told him. "I—" He broke off as his gaze fell on the painting and an idea struck him. There was nothing stopping him destroying it _now_...

But as Adam moved toward the painting, Jon reached out to stop him. "No you don't," he said, grabbing Adam's arm. Adam swung around, prepared to fight, but Jon stood frozen, and Adam soon understood why: his sleeve had pulled up, revealing his tattoo.

"All this time," Jon said slowly. "You've been playing both sides, one of us and one of them, all this time."

Adam might have used Jon's amazement as the moment to break free, but he was frozen, too, if for another reason: there were Immortals nearby.

"Brilliant deduction," Amanda purred from the doorway. "But I think this case is closed."

Adam rolled his eyes and Jon turned. "What the—"

Too late. Duncan followed Amanda in, a semi-automatic trained on the Watcher. "Now, we're going to take the painting and our friend here, and we're going to pretend this never happened. Understood?"

"You'll never get away," said Jon. "Cameras, security, and even now researchers are beginning to gather in the main house."

"Really?" Amanda asked. She turned to the security camera mounted in the corner of the room and blew a kiss. "I always did love the limelight."

"I think you'll find there's been a major malfunction in your system," Duncan added.

Amanda smiled again. "I'd almost feel bad about ruining your big moment if only..." She moved in close to Jon, who watched her warily but showed no sign of backing down as she reached up as though to touch his cheek. "...you weren't a terrible human being." The needle slipped from her sleeve into her hand, and in one smooth move she imbedded it into Jon's neck.

"Nighty night," said Duncan.

Jon released Adam and stumbled backward a couple steps before crumpling.

"Thank God that one's not Immortal," Amanda mused. She began circling the room, eyeing the rich collection of curios scattered throughout the room. "This is a guesthouse? Who were they expecting, the Queen?"

"Amanda," Duncan warned. "Get the painting." Then he backed into the hall and brought in the decoy as Amanda hefted the original.

"What is that?" Adam asked as he surveyed his replacement.

"We don't know," Amanda admitted.

"Is it a man or a woman?"

Amanda tilted her head. "You know, it looks a little like—"

"Those drugs won't last forever," Duncan reminded them. "And if anyone comes looking..."

"Here, carry this." Amanda thrust Adam's portrait at him.

"You stole it, you carry it," Adam countered.

"Children!" Duncan snapped, then sighed. "Fine. _I'll_ carry it." He handed Adam the gun, took the painting, and led the way out.

***

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Amanda asked.

"I'm sure."

The four of them stood on the deck of Duncan's barge. It was late, and the portrait propped against the railing was barely visible in the light of the candle Adam held. Adam touched the flame to the corner of the canvas, which curled away as if to escape the fire. They watched as the embers ate away the image. When it was almost entirely gone, Duncan stepped over, grabbed the portrait by its thick, gilded frame, and tossed it into the water.

***

Final Correspondence Between Nathan Stern and David Talbot's Secretary

_David—_

_I'm afraid we've lost the man, though the portrait remains. It seems unlikely he would have left this kind of evidence, so we're inclined to believe the painting may be an imposter, though no one who saw it before the debacle seems to be able to remember what the original looked like. What we do know is that Bromley, aka Brother Gabriel, is still out there. We will continue to search for him and any other lost Immortals._

_—Nathan Stern_

_Dear Mr. Stern,_

_I regret to inform you that your recent correspondence with Mr. Talbot remains unread. Mr. Talbot has taken an indefinite leave to Barbados and cannot be reached at this time. Your letter will be given to him at the earliest opportunity. Thank you for your patience._

_Most sincerely,  
M. Einhardt, Secretary to the Superior General_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not, by any means, the height of action, but that's what you get from 15yo me... I would do it differently now, maybe, but the germ of the story is solid, I think.


End file.
